Killer Hand
by Ancelin
Summary: This is a one-shot of the posion scene in Casino Royale. What were James and M thinking during that exciting scene? Regretablly I have no rights to the story, characters, or their human actors. That belongs to Broccoli Productions and whoever else.


Author's Note: I do NOT own James Bond (007), Vesper, Le Cheffe, M, or any other characters from the James Bond Universe. This is set during the new movie Casino Royale. Please, forgive any missed dialogue. Reviews are appreciated, prefer nice ones, but do accept flames, too.

Killer Hand

He felt the room suddenly star to spin, and his heart rate increase. Within moments the room blurred and spun even faster. What in the Hell? What brought this on? The answer hit him like a ton of bricks. Someone had poisoned his drink.

He had to get out of the casino, contact MI6, and get some help. "Deal me out." He told the dealer. The MC stopped him quickly, and said he couldn't, because Bond was in the big blind. Without thinking he picked up a handful of chips and threw them in. On the way out of the casino he grabbed a salt shaker and an empty glass. James made it to the bathroom and downed a heavy salt water concentration. This had the expected effect: he almost instantly found himself retching into the sink. It was too late the poison had been absorbed into his system. With this realization he quickly made his way out of the casino.

As James made his way across the street to his Astin Martin he stumbled and got clipped in the arm by a car. But it was nothing compared to what was happing to him internally. He could feel his heart continue to race, and the spinning and blurriness was getting worse. His blood pressure was dropping rapidly. He was having trouble breathing, and the pain in his chest was almost unbearable.

He made it to the Astin Martin as the symptoms continued to worsen. He was grateful for a place to sit as he could barely stand. He was sweating and panting. Against his will he realized that he was starting to get very nervous. James Bond was not afraid to die but he sure as high hell didn't want to go without some kind of a fight.

_Oh, shit!_ He could feel his symptoms, especially the palpitations (increased heart rate); increase exponentially-as he reached for the implant activator. No matter what he tried it made no difference to ease his symptoms. The poison was working alright. Working a little too fast and efficiently.

He activated the implant. Grateful, for once that he had not fought M on the issue of its use in keeping an eye on him. If he was going to make stupid mistakes like drinking poison he needed to have an eye kept on him. He breathed a sigh of relief, and worked to stay conscious as he waited for MI6's assessment.

He knew MI6 would have flown into action to save his ass already. His heart rate was, more than likely, well over 150. That would definitely get their attention. M had called him a dramatist, and maybe he was. The wait seemed forever.

_God, come on. I'm dying. Need a little help here_. He was continuing to sweat like a stuck pig. He could only hold on a few more minutes at most. His heart rate was still racing, and the thought crossed his mind that it might have won the-_what did the American's call their big auto car race? Oh, yeah, the Indianapolis 500_. A most welcome sound interrupted this line of drivel- the doctor at MI6.

_Alright, 007, you need to focus. What is he saying?_ "Take out the defibrillator, and place the pads on your chest. Hurry 007, you don't have long." _No duh, doc. It doesn't take a medical degree to figure that out. _He heard the voice of a technician in the background say two very scary words, ventricular tachycardia.

007, was charging the defibrillator per instructions when he heard the tech and doctor start to argue. The tech wanted him to take the hypo before the shock, and the doctor wanted him to administer the shock. It seemed like they had forgot about their patient, and so James in frustration decided to take the choice from them. He injected the hypo were the tech had told him- in the mid neck line. He went back to charge the defibrillator with the last of his strength.

He depressed the red button, bracing himself for the shock, but nothing happened. He could hear the doctor, tech, and M yelling at him to depress the button and administer the life saving shock to himself. If he had had more strength and was not on the verge of passing out, he would have yelled at them that he was trying but the damn thing wasn't working. _Hang on idiot figure this out, administer the shock, and then pass out._ He looked down at his chest and saw the lead wire was disconnected from the pads. He picked up the wire to fix the problem, but his body rebelled and he went from step one to step three in no time. He never felt his head hit the driver side buckle.

M and those at MI6 looked in shock at 007's EKG readout. No one said a word. No one was willing to believe what they were seeing, or what it meant. James Bond-007- was flat line. He was clinically dead. This day could not get any worse.

If M had not been a consummate professional she would have broke down at that moment. She projected an air of authority and an icy exterior that would tell people-without words- she considered it Bond's fault. Internally it was a much different feeling. She felt her heart constrict with loss.

Sure 007 had been cocky, arrogant, and overly self confident, but that was 007. Still he was young, and despite his mistakes in the field she had had high hopes for him. She recalled their last meeting together. It had been an unexpected one. Bond had gained access to her home and was waiting for her when she got home from MI6. She had told him that in essence it had been a mistake to promote him, and maybe it had been. He had told her that the life expectancy for a double-oh was not that long so her mistake would be short lived. Looking back-oh, the beauty and horror of hindsight- the conversation seemed almost prophetic.

She looked back at the monitor. Rebelling against every logical cell in her body, and hoping against hope that there was a mistake. There was no change in the monitor. 007 was gone.

Vesper had seen James leave the casino. She could tell by the way he looked and carried himself that something was terribly wrong. It had taken her several minutes to put two and two together. Her first thought was to go to the room, but then it hit her Bond would not go to the room in an emergency. So, she ran out to the Astin Martin praying that she was wrong and maybe even hallucinating.

To Vesper's horror she was not. The passenger side of the Astin Martin was wide open. James was lying sideways across the seats. He was unconscious. She checked his pulse. Worse he was dead. She saw instantly what he had been trying to do, at spotting the defibrillator attached to his chest. She found the unattached wire and plugged it back in. _Please let him react. Let him live. _

She charged the defibrillator, and shocked him. She was about to give him another jolt when...

His eyes opened, and he looked at her. He flashed her the smile that made her heart race. "Are you okay?" James asked this a bit groggily, but it was said in such a way that you think it was her lying there dead, just moments ago.

They could hear the audible sighs of relief from the MI-6 team, as his heart rate registered again. It amazed them all that not only was it registering, but at a normal sinus rhythm. Vesper just smiled as she fought the urge to fling herself into his arms.

James was only partially listening to the MI-6 doctor's instructions. He quickly removed the pads from his chest, and got out of the car. His chest hurt and burned, but not as bad as it could have. "007, you need to get to the hospital." That is what the doctors were saying, but James had something else in mind.

He could not afford to quite. Not with the Americans backing him, and La Cheffe so close to losing. So he gave a semblance of the truth, he hoped. "I'll go after I finish this game." He buttoned his outer jacket, and removed the ear piece before the doctor's could protest. Then the brash and very much alive James Bond took his date's arm and laced it through his.

They made their way across the street, and back into the hotel. If it had not been for the sedate speed James walked, and the fact that he was leaning on her just slightly, Vesper would not have suspected that the events that just took place had happened at all. James steered Vesper up to their room. He was not a hundred percent. He wanted a moment to compose himself, and he needed to change his shirt. He changed his silk shirt quickly, and made his way- with Vesper- back down to the Poker table.

_James, you are an absolute idiot. You should have checked the glass for poison before drinking. One more mistake to learn from. Thank God for M, MI-6, and Vesper. Well, James, you have a long way to go if you are going to survive as a double-oh agent. _He thought to himself as he retook his seat.

He looked at La Cheffe when he mentioned his change of shirt. "I hope our little game isn't making you perspire too much, Mr. Bond." The feign attempt at civility in his opponents voice made him sick.

"Oh, no," replied James. "That last hand just about killed me though." _How true. _


End file.
